


Mold of Best Fit

by Talle



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talle/pseuds/Talle
Summary: It’s the same routine, the same practise every time he comes over to visit his *totally not* favourite power couple — so why is this time any different to the rest?





	Mold of Best Fit

**Author's Note:**

> Because I needed to vent out my own internal struggles through Yuri Plisetsky and this was the perfect opportunity to write about a bit of art I’ve drawn~
> 
> (Follow my Instagram @Marcarella.Pizza for more!)

Yuri hates it.

With every fibre of his being, Yuri absolutely hates the way the two love struck fools treat him whenever he’s over. Why is he even over? He knows how it goes for it’s the same story every time.

It starts with a knock on the door, and then that old mutt, Makkachin, barks like she’s still a puppy. Yuri often wants to know just exactly how she’s still alive and causing a racket, and yet he finds himself thinking that asking any sort of question could be seen as too personal.

Yuri doesn’t do personal, just as he doesn’t do the warm embrace that greets him at the front door. After Viktor wrestles his beloved poodle away and Yurri lets him in of course, Yuri finds his arms freeze at his sides awkwardly. This has been part of the routine for a long time, and despite having been treated the same way for the last 5 years, he still doesn’t think he’ll get used to it.

So Yuri waits, teeth clenching as he grows silent, allowing the happy, mushy couple to have their way and gush over him. “Oh Yurio you’ve grown so much since we last saw you!” Viktor likes to tease, and in response, Yuri snaps back with the argument that ‘Yurio’ is most certainly not his name. And of course, like every other time, he knows fully well that the nickname has stuck to him like Yurri to Viktor. He still tries to stop it, although admittedly with determination lesser than the last time.

Speaking of the Japanese man, he’s always the next to make a move in this little ritual of theirs. Somehow, and Yuri has yet to figure out how, there’s always something cooking in the kitchen, or take out waiting at the table, no matter the time he arrives. He starts to wonder if his visits have become a sixth sense to the pair, as if they just know instinctively that their self proclaimed “son” is soon to come “home”.

Of course, he never agreed to being their son, or calling their house his home, just as he never agreed to being called ‘ Yurio’ or being their best man at their wedding. No, Yuri didn’t necessarily agree — but it didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful.

What an odd contradiction it was, to feel disliking and affection all at once. It was one of the reasons he despised coming over, while simultaneously yearning for more. He’d never dare discuss such things aloud, oh but he wanted to for sure. It just didn’t seem to fit his character, which confused the young man even more.

And like every time he visited, he’d gone through the motions, he’d followed Yurri to the awaiting food, Katsudon this time, and he sat down to eat in silence.

This time wasn’t supposed to be any more different than the last.

“Is the Katsudon good?” Yurri worried, because for some reason, people needed to know if the cooking others were willingly eating in front of their own eyeballs was edible.

“Vkusno!” Viktor had cheered, admiring his husband’s cooking — but of course he’d declare the food delicious, this was Viktor after all, and anything Yurri did he supported.

Yuri had shrugged in response, knowing entirely that his behaviour would be considered rude if it weren’t for the two older skaters silently translating his reactions into something more acceptable. “Yuriish” was something Viktor had claimed to be fluent in, and took pride when he’d successfully decipher the blonde’s mixed signals.

“Well that’s good.” Yurri smiled at the younger, ruffling his locks before turning to feed Makkachin. Yuri only shook his head and ducked, body shifting to avoid the form of affection. Affection wasn’t something he thought fit the personality he’d created.

With a low groan, he blew a few flyaway strands from his face. His hair was no longer something manageable by mere combs, it’d grown over the course of 5 years, much like how Viktor’s had, and if Yurri let his own grow into a mop on his head, no one said anything about it.

Sighing, he tugged at the elastic band and began to loop it around his hands, twisting the blonde into a lopsided bun. It wasn’t neat but it’d have to do while he ate. “Do you mind?” He growled, but seemingly left the situation be in favour of his food.

“Ah Yurio, still a feisty kitten I see.” Viktor smirked, offering a hand to take his empty bowl away. Yuri only accepts because as a guest he feels entitled to being pampered — or so he says at least. “Are you gonna go back to the rink with us later?”

“Yeah, gotta beat your old ass still.” Yuri grinned, the challenging banter falling right into his comfort zone. “I’ve been practicing salchows repeatedly for days, gotta build up stamina if I wanna beat the pig.”

Viktor frowned and Yuri immediately knew where he’d gone wrong, wincing internally as the platinum blonde gave him a sharp look. “Yuri, we’ve been over this — you can’t call Yurri—“

“I get it.” Yuri had snapped, quickly making sure Yurri hadn’t heard anything he’d said. Thankfully the man with the glass heart had been too distracted with Makkachin to have noticed, but it still didn’t solve the tight feeling that now permeated in his chest. “You don’t need to lecture me I get it.” He’d said that a lot, finding he meant it more nowadays than before. There was an unnaturally long pause. “Sorry I guess.”

Viktor seemed surprised with the sudden complacency, nodding his head in thought. It’d become common knowledge that Yuri didn’t often speak so honestly, and experience had taught the elder that Yuri’s pride was often the reason for this, so he spared him, face morphing into his infamous heart shaped smile. “Your stuff is in your room if you’d like to change before we head out.”

Yuri should have been thankful for the subject change, but still the odd mixture of feelings that just couldn’t be determined remained. “Yeah… I’ll, do that.”

Standing up slowly, he passed Yurri in silence, turning down the hallway on instinct. The layout of the house had been burned into his mind by now, two doors to the left and the “guest room” — which was really Yuri’s room with all his belongings lying about, came into view. It had been left untouched from the last time he was there.

It felt as if he’d been there just yesterday with how frequent his appearances had become, but how long ago had it really been?

No longer than a week ago, Yuri concluded, eyeing the tiny note left from the power couple. “Good night Yurio <3” it had read, remaining as a simple reminder of the time he’d crashed from a flu. Yurri had instantly become his mother hen and Viktor had gone even further, trying to lighten the mood as their good natured hearts prompted them too. It was nothing but a week of disgusting sweetness, enough to rot every tooth in his mouth. Gosh, if he disliked coming over so much then why was he still here?

Yuri paused mid scramble for a change of clothes as this thought crossed his mind. He knew the answer deep down, he knew the real reason, but for whatever purpose, his brain refused to relinquish it.

That was fine, he’d lead himself to believe, it wasn’t Yuri’s personality anyway.

+++

Viktor Nikiforov had never experienced the struggle of anxiety that Yurri had lived, having been brought up in front of the press and raised to be a star, there was practically nothing he could think of that’d stir fear within him.

Now, as he sat on the living room sofa with Makkachin by his side, he suddenly understood every single little fear his Yurri had ever had.

The Russian sighed heavily as his dog nuzzled his hand. God, how did Yurri survive with the constant fear of anything and everything? How had he pushed himself beyond boundaries and come out the other side even more determined?! How had he not practically died in front of the world at the kiss and cry?!

Well, the reality was simply that Yurri had, that he’d been terrified and that fear was printed into the world’s television screens and cameras. Viktor knew this, deep down, yet despite that, the ratchet feeling of something going wrong still scratched at his insides.

“Yurri, we simply can’t go.” He shook his head. It was dramatic, the lengths the man went to get his way were anything but normal, and this new anxious feeling only strengthened his stubbornness. “Yurri, Makkachin needs us, what if she chokes on something while we’re out? What if we go ahead and Yurio hates us? Oh my gosh, Yurri what if you hurt yourself on the ice?! You tripped yesterday and—“

“You really need to calm down old man, it’s adding wrinkles to your face and the stress is making you go bald.” Yurio cut in, tossing his team Russia jacket over his shoulder. Yurri eyes him as he changes his mind, deciding to tie it around his waist as he goes, kneeling before Makkachin to scratch behind her ear.

“Oh my god you’re right! I can’t lose MORE hair!”

“Vitya, your hair is fine.” Yurri sighs, but he really doesn’t know what more to say. It’s not usually Viktor that needs to calm down, and he’s never been in the position of assisting another.

“You’re saying that because you’re obligated to.” The man declared, pout forming on his face. “What’s with me today? Why am I so worked up?! I was fine when we were eating Katsudon, oh my gosh am I gonna end up worrying forever?! Am I going to be like you?”

“First of all, ouch, way to hurt my pride.” Yurri rolled his eyes, taking a seat beside Yuri on the floor. The blonde shifts only slightly, but he’s almost certain it’s so that he can play with Makkachin some more. “Second, everyone has anxieties… some tend to be worse than others.”

His husband pauses mid mental rant, Yuri recognises this action as he’s seen it a million times from Yurri. The frowning stills, the wrinkles deepen, and the breathing grows a little lighter. In addition to this, it appears that Viktor’s natural paleness allows for red to seep into his cheeks. It’s never been a part of his visit’s routine to have Viktor worry so much, it’s usually Yurri, and that’s the first sign Yuri recognises that tells him today is simply not going to follow the rules.

“When… uh, sometimes, we don’t know we have anxieties because we’re too busy doing stuff to realise.” Yurri scratches at the back of his head, searching for words to put into sentences. “I’m not entirely sure — sorry, I’m not usually the one reassuring another… it’s usually the other way round.” He gives a feeble laugh, “— but! Uhhh… I guess what I’m trying to say, is that maybe you’ve finally managed to become so relaxed, your brain feels you’re ready to take on something else? I mean think about it, you’ve been so absorbed by media presence and skating your entire life, you’ve never had a real moment to stop and take a breather, if you were to start worrying about other things… maybe you just wouldn’t have been ready.”

Yuri paused his movements, hands still embedded into Makkachin’s curly fur. He had to admit that what the other Yurri said made sense, and after a glance up at Viktor, who was now sprawled across the sofa, it appeared that the latter could also see the logic to his husband’s reasoning.

“Well that makes a lot more sense.” Viktor sits up, legs crossed like an obedient child. He has a finger pressed against his lips as he thinks, a petulant frown of concentration taking over. “Well at least I’m not going crazy!” He declares, and just like that, he seems already ten times better.

Now, to get Yurri to do the same every time he freaks out and Yuri reckons his visits could become even better.

“But I think we should take a break today.” Yurri cuts in, and it surprises Viktor when Yuri nods in agreement, for whatever reason he has to agree with the Japanese man for once. “You’re tense.” He adds, a gentle hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “You stayed back for four hours yesterday, Yakov told me… and Viktor, you’re still fidgeting.”

“I… oh, I am.” The platinum blonde realises, shrugging as nonchalantly as he can. “Nothing I say will make you change you’re mind huh?”

“No, and don’t even try thinking about—“

“Ten kisses and we go to the ice rink.” Viktor bargains, and it’s so out of character, Yuri has to bite his tongue in order not to scream in mild disgust.

“No.” Yurri simply replies with a smirk, “Although I feel as though I’m the one who usually makes that excuse.”

“You are.” Yuri groans, face scrunching up as he turns away. “God please get a room if that’s all you plan to do… I’m going to play with Makkachin, to avoid the need of bleaching both of our eyes while you do… you.” Yuri returns to his silent game with the dog.

“You’re oddly dormant today.” Viktor notes, slipping off the cushions to join the three, including Makkachin, on the floor.

“Well you’re oddly jumpy, but you don’t see me saying shit huh?” Yuri snaps back. He knows his usual behaviour is far from what he’s acted like today, and it does nothing but create more mixed feelings within him.

“We could watch a movie?” Yurri lightly suggests, and there’s a pause of consideration before the two Russian skaters on either side of him simply nod.

+++

Yurri thinks he’s going to die because oh my god, Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia, the angsty teen who kicks doors in, the one who’d literally kicked Yurri’s face on more than one occasion, was being mollycoddled WITHOUT complaint?! It’s impossible, unheard of! Out of all the topsy turvy emotions thrown about the room today, this by far had to be the last straw!

So Yurri says nothing, instead, he lets his heart pound heavily as he nudges Viktor, and now both of them are silently squealing as Yurri is permitted to untangle the knots from the blonde’s thick hair.

A part of Yurri is tempted to tease Yuri, with how patient and quiet he’s being and that he always knew there was a soft side to the skater. The other part of Yurri knows better, and somehow, although it really isn’t hard when you live with your own insecurities and anxieties, managed to figure out what was wrong before Yuri could even guess there was a problem in the first place.

It certainly hadn’t been clear in the beginning, never once did Yuri actually admit to feeling odd, or did he even hint at an internal struggle. But every once in a while over the course of his visits, it’d become clear that the poor kid, because Yuri would always be a 15 year old kid to them, had created a mold he simply couldn’t fit.

A mold which he’d lived because that was all that had worked. Yurri knows better than to pry however — that story stays between Viktor, Yuri and his parents, it doesn’t need to leave that safety circle.

But one day, Yurri would like for Yuri to realise this, on his own. He’d like for Yuri to be able to knock on their front door, great them with a smile, hug them back and say hello in the way he wanted to, not in the way he’d forced himself too. One day, Viktor would like for Yuri to realise that changing a part of himself would never be considered bad, or embarrassing, and that there was no need to fit the personality of “Yuri Plisetsky” because that could change as he damn pleased.

But for now, as the three sat together, squished and uncomfortable on the living room floor, the small steps, like the ones where Viktor and Yurri were permitted to braid his hair and make light conversation, were going to be enough.

“Yuri, I wanna use the hair pins.” Viktor pouts, but the boy doesn’t tease him as he tosses the small packet. He does snort though, only when they spill and Viktor has to pick them up, but it’s a sort of friendly laugh that holds no malice.

“Viktor! Stop moving your head!” Yurri squabbles, because for some reason, he’d decided it’d be fun to tame the monstrous amount of hair that his husband had. Seriously, he was worried about balding, with THAT much hair?

“Yeah Viktor, stop moving.” Yuri grins, a hand blindly reaching for the dog brush beside him. In his lap, Makkachin is obediently waiting, tongue lolling to the side as Yuri runs the specialised brush through the fur. It’s oddly soothing, and completely out of Yuri’s character.

Yuri ignores this last point on purpose.

“I can’t decide Yuri, two pigtails or like, five hundred tiny ponytails.” Yurri asks, because with the amount of hair Viktor has, the opportunity to make him look ridiculous simply can’t be passed up.

“Hmmm, five hundred.” Yuri replies, tossing a packet of hair elastics back blindly. His smile only widens when he hears the rainfall of products, knowing fully well that there’s a mess of multicoloured bands awaiting him if he were to look behind.

“So cruel!” Viktor chides, pulling a part of the youngster’s bangs into grasp. Yuri’s hair is now in a nicer messy bun, expertly teased and frazzled with a flourish in only a way a Nikiforov could do it. To complete the look is a red bow, although Yuri personally reckons a green one would be cooler, but he doesn’t say anything because he’s too pleased with his appearance in the hand held mirror.

“Not bad old man.” Yuri nods, finally turning to look around. Behind him, he can see the beginnings of the first pony tail being carefully placed in his platinum blond hair — don’t let Viktor hear you say silver, he’d probably cry.

“Not bad? It’s fabulous! So good, you should skate your free skate program with your hair like this!”

“Well I can’t go around feeding your ego now can I?” Yurri laughs from somewhere behind Viktor.

On closer inspection, the brunette, or what can be arguably borderline black, locks on Yurri’s head are in a tiny pony tail, the longer parts left free. In place are one of those elastics with plastic baubles, standing out against the darkness in contrast.

“Ooh! Viktor gimme one of those ties!” Yuri demands, as if he’s a child and he’s not 20 and their casual hair salon play is something normal. Viktor only grins and snatches the other, taking a moment to inspect Makkachin who somehow ended up with a flower crown.

“Cute.” He comments, before snapping the tie onto his wrist.

“Viktor you’re moving again!” Yurri scolds, and Yuri tries desperately to hold in a laugh. In the end he fails, and he knows he has as he feels the comforting rumbling in his chest, despite the concern that the odd feeling would make a return.

It doesn’t however, which confuses him as much as it makes him feel… lighter. He doesn’t know what he wants to call this new feeling, or the true definition of its symptoms, so he decides to call it light.

And Yuri hates it, no, he wants to hate it. No, not even that. This moment with his self proclaimed parents, in their house he calls home, where he’s also called ‘Yurio’, it’s something his mind is telling him to hate but doesn’t quite believe all the same. And before he can get caught up in the expectations and desires of his nature, Yuri decides that it doesn’t really matter and he doesn’t really give a shit either.

Of course it’s not the “one day” Yurri and Viktor have in mind, and it’s no where near the vulnerability Yuri wishes to express, but for now it’s enough and enough is good.

Viktor tugs at a knot before apologising profusely. “GOD DAMN IT IDIOT!” Yuri hisses, a hand smacking at the other’s “WATCH IT!” And there’s a split second, an only very minuscule amount of time, where the room grows silent and everyone tenses.

It’s quickly lost in the bubbling of laughter however, because today is certainly unlike any other and Yuri concludes that he doesn’t give a hoo-ha about expectations. And that alone is enough to make him smile, because in reality, that’s just the type of person Yuri is.

 


End file.
